Beyond Jealousy
by XxTigerlilyxX
Summary: You would think Beyond Jealousy was a good thing for Clove, a blessing in disguise. Instead it was the opposite, the dark streaks of her insanity, it tipped her over the edge of the abyss. To the point where she was beyond caring, where she was beyond jealousy.


**Beyond Jealousy**

Glimmer's light melodic laughter trickled over Clove's ears. As the flickering of shadows out of the corner of her eyes told her Glimmer was no doubt touching Cato, their shadows mingled together in a combined grey and black light. When she sees them kiss, she swears she just threw up a little in her mouth, but that doesn't justify the quick formation of teardrops in her eyes.

The whoosh of the wind is beneath her, the chariot jolting occasionally as they continued their bumpy ride across the City Circle. The faces of the crowd sailed and merged before her eyes, as they passed thousands and thousands of Capitalian people. Clove would've succumbed to nerves and felt devastatingly overwhelmed if it weren't for the fact that she looked, and felt beautiful for once. In that striking dress of gorgeous gold and copper. Until she saw Glimmer though, in her heavenly attractive hot pink costume, and saw Cato's eyes drift over to her figure. Clove felt her throat close up and wished for a knife in her hands.

First day of training, and Cato already drifted over to Glimmer. They're light blonde hair mingling as they shared jokes and talked a little about home. Glimmer having her arm hooked through the crook of his as they past Clove, a subtly arrogant gleam in Glimmer's eyes as she saw Clove's downcast face of disappointment, and the indifferent manner in which Cato looked at her.

Think. Of roses and flowers. Of teddy bears and sunshine, and rainbows. Clove almost deludes herself silly, trying to make herself happy. Trying to ignore the joyful shrieks and cries of Glimmer and Cato's laughter over the banquet at lunch. It had always happened this way, with Cato being 17 and Clove being 15, he rarely took notice of her back in their home district, and yet Clove harboured a raging hot, ice cold desire for him. Yet she never had the confidence to make the first move. She'd thought that'll all change here, being at the Hunger Games, but it didn't. She hasn't changed. He hasn't. Everything's still the same, except with some deadly beautiful girl called Glimmer in the equation.

It was the night before the arena. The thick colourless void of black blankets threatened to suffocate her, as Clove lay back and drew them over her head. Seeing things in the ceiling that weren't there. Thinking, wanting, wishing. Tonight was the last night before the arena. The last night to truly be her - plain old Clove who liked throwing knives and had a biting sense of sarcasm but didn't want to kill anyone, to the cold blooded murderer they expected a 15 year old to be. She almost told Cato over dinner that night. Almost told him how she felt. But she didn't. She was held back by their mentors barging in, and ever since, she hasn't attempted conversation again. Now it's too late. Now, Clove huddled in the darkness of her bed, feeling all the years of frustration, and jealousy and longing crash over her, pulling at the strings of her sanity. She bit her hand in attempt to rid the pain, but when that didn't work, she vowed to inflict her pain on somebody else. In the arena, tomorrow, that would be her temporary escape on her dilemma.

The pre-arena Clove would've given anything to get a drop of affection back from Cato, or anyone to be specific. Both her parents were hardened cold blooded victors who didn't care a damn about her and thought of her as worthless unless she proved herself, which she was doing by going to the Games. But during the Games, the part of Clove that wanted, cherished, desired affection and love, completely burnt out. After her first kill, she became accustomed to the exhilaration of the murders, and the odd twinge of satisfaction at seeing her inner pain inflicted upon someone else, that she became insane. An emotionless, blank shell of a person. The post-arena Clove wouldn't have cared if Cato fell on his knees and expressed his undying affection for her.

Which was exactly what he did. In the few minutes short of her death, after Thresh had escaped into the wheatfields, Cato ran to her side and dropped on his knees, holding her ice cold hands in his pleasurable warm ones, pleading, begging her to stay with him.

And Clove didn't care.

Despite all life longing for those affections of Cato, these words, these touches, the gentle way his azure blue eyes looked at her, shimmering with silent emotion he'd never allow anyone else to see, all that he was met with was a thick gaze of indifference and oblivion. She didn't care, not a single drop.

Funny how these things worked.

* * *

**A/N: This one shot doesn't relate at all to my other Clato story.**


End file.
